Haven
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: It was supposed to be paradise. It was supposed to keep them all safe. They should've known it wouldn't last forever without taking something from them.
1. Chapter 1

-Okay, so I'm growing really attached to this fic, and I had to write it, even though I'm writing other things. This'll be short though, promise.

Some warnings: 1. This is Thominho. Sorry :) 2. There is blood. And guys, yes, there are guys together. You knew that though haha.

I hope you enjoy this, so let me know what you think and if you'd like some more Haven-fics. I mean, I might write them anyway, but whatever ;)-

-Haven-

Haven was considered to be a safe place. Was there a lot of work to do? Yes. Did the Immunes have to band together everyday to survive? Yes. It wasn't a perfect sanctuary in the forest, but it was as close as they were going to get. Haven was nothing more than several log cabins clustered together in a vast meadow. On either side of the main community, there were dark, whispering trees; tall oaks, maples, and even pines towered from the golden grass. A stream bubbled clear and strong through the woods, providing a reliable water source. And if you were to travel far enough into the forest, past the stream, you would find yourself at the edge of jagged cliffs. Below, the blue-gray ocean tossed up roaring waves and stretched far into the distance.

So, no, Haven wasn't perfect. There was constant food-gathering, hunting, and building. There was hard work. But everyone did their part and it worked. Haven was safe. Finally, the Immunes had found their paradise, after so long of fighting for their very lives against WICKED. How ironic that in the end, it was the leader of WICKED that saved them.

For the first year, they assumed that life would always be like this. The same daily routine, with a few changes: celebrating holidays, reinforcing walls during the winter, and the occasional squabbles between families. They never thought they would be in any real danger, that any awful event would actually strike their tiny community.

They were wrong.

-X-X-X-

It happened near the winter months.

On a day when the sky was crowded with dark stormclouds, turned even blacker by gathering dusk, little Sarah wandered off to explore. Now, Sarah wasn't normally a troublemaker. She was a little girl who had come to Haven with her mother, Lydia. But it was late and she was sick of sitting around indoors all night. It was only raining a little bit, after all. Her mother was just being too overprotective. So, Sarah snuck out.

It felt gloriously liberating to be out in the rain-soaked woods at this hour. Her ice-blonde hair was curly and caught back in an unruly ponytail. Bare feet sank into the soft grass as she trotted along. Humming a quiet tune to herself, she paused beside the fat trunk of an oak. She smoothed her yellow-and-black, polka-dotted dress regally and took on the part of a queen. These were her woods and she was here to make sure no one captured them from her. She began to march forward importantly, swinging little fists at her sides. Droplets plummeted from the sky overhead, plopping onto the forest floor and her head. They were icy cool and made her shiver slightly. Perhaps it would've been a good idea to grab a fur coat to take with her. But then she insisted to herself that a queen didn't need a coat; she'd be fine.

As she strode on, she swept her green gaze critically over the surrounding plants and flowers. Her royal subjects. They were all drooping under the weight of water collecting in their leaves. Halting, she jabbed a finger at a daisy. "Hey, you there!" she snapped, pitching her voice down. "Sit up straight when your queen passes, please." Narrowing her eyes, she surveyed the small clearing she'd ended up in. "You too," she ordered a bowing fern. "And you, there, Brambles." She snickered to herself at the clever name. Oh, what fun this was! She felt so free, out from under the gazes of everyone else in Haven. No mom, none of the elderly men and women, no Thomas, or Brenda, or Jorge. She could do anything she wanted now. The forest was hers to command.

Glancing over, she spotted her newest subject: a slim, silver maple. It was a rare beauty in these oak-crowded woods. A cluster of ferns choked the area around the roots of it, obscuring part of the trunk. Sarah beamed widely up at it, blinking against the screen of gray rain. This would be her prince, she decided. Skipping right up to it, she stood up straight and tipped up her chin. "Hello, good sir!" she greeted grandly. "Are you going to bow for me, too?" The tree, of course, just sat there silently. Sarah giggled at herself, bringing her hands up to her mouth. "I like you, prince! I think you'll be my king! How about that? How about—?" Then she paused.

There was...something strange on the trunk. It was barely visible through the growing ferns, a glimpse of something paler against the silvery bark. Cocking her head curiously, Sarah crept up to the tree. She reached out and slowly clawed the creeping ferns away, coating her arms in raindrops. It took her a minute, but she managed to push all the undergrowth away. Then she wrinkled her nose at what was revealed. It didn't make any sense to her. It was writing. Blocky letters had been carved into the bark, as neatly as possible on a rough tree's surface. Sarah knew how to read, so she whispered the word under her breath. "Newt." Her confusion grew. Who or what was "Newt" and what was it doing here?

She peered up at the maple's spindly branches again. "Is that your name, prince?" she asked playfully.

As if on cue, a sudden bark of sound came from her left. Sarah yelped and leaped back from the tree; her feet caught on each other and she stumbled back onto the ground. "Ow!" The exclamation was torn from her and she was instantly terrified. Whatever it was had heard her. She could see it, oh God, she could see it. A hulking silhouette, standing just to the left, behind the maple. It was an animal of some sort, with wide shoulders and fur frosted by rain. A pair of fiery eyes gleamed from the shadows. They were fixed solely on her.

She couldn't breathe. She was too scared to breathe. Trembling, hardly daring to tear her gaze from the creature, she began to scoot backward on the ground. As soon as she moved her arm, the thing released a deep throaty growl. It stopped her in her tracks. It was the kind of sound monsters made in children's nightmares, while alone in the dark. It sent a deep primal fear into her bones. Whimpering, she sat there, unable to move. The thing just stared back, hunger in those amber eyes. There would be no escape. Predator had targeted and trapped its prey with only a glare from the dark.

She was still frozen in place when the others arrived.

-X-X-X-

It was going to be a long night, here in Haven.

Minho hated storms.

Now, granted, the pounding rain on the roof only hinted at a downpour, without thunder or lightning. So, technically, it wasn't really a storm. But it still made him uncomfortable. Ever since he'd been struck by lightning out in the Scorch, thunderstorms and heavy rain made him nervous. He tended to stay inside on those days, only venturing out if he was needed. Not that he'd ever admit this anxiety to anyone here. He was the strong one here, after all, one of the Gladers that led the Immunes to freedom. He had to keep that leader-like image. What would the others think if they found out he was afraid of RAIN?

He still wasn't going outside tonight though.

Right now, flames were burning in several lamps set about the log cabin. Two were on the tiny table in the corner and there was a third on the floor by his bed. It was a bit dangerous to have fire in the wooden homes of Haven, but they all agreed that some form of light was needed. A crafty Immune named Jackson had presented them all with a prize he and his two brothers had stolen from WICKED's storage unit, back before they were taken themselves: a supply of lamps. They simply replaced the oil with homemade candles in the lamps' glass casings and bam. Light. Everyone received a few if they wanted them. Others just dug out dirt fireplaces in their homes.

Minho? He preferred something held in a glass case. At least then, he could be sure the flames wouldn't wander. He was sitting cross-legged on the piled furs of his bed at the moment, watching the glow dance on the ceiling. The wood felt rough through his black tank top, the furs soft through his boxers; he didn't like to wear pants to bed. He knew it was getting late, but sleep kept eluding him. At night, when he was alone, his thoughts were what kept him company. Sighing, his gaze fell onto a folded garment at the foot of the bed. A cream-colored hoodie sat there, neatly placed off to the side. Minho's heart both swelled and ached at the side of it.

Sometimes, he felt heart-ripping grief toward the hoodie. He'd curl up in bed with it, tears on his cheeks, and bury his nose in the fabric to search for his angel's scent. Most of it had faded long ago, but still, he reached desperately for it. The hoodie's softness in his hands was the closest he'd ever get to Newt now.

There were other times when he felt guilty about that hoodie. He missed Newt, missed him with all of his heart. But, here in paradise, he'd moved on. The pieces of his heart had been put back together again. By Thomas. Sweet, selfless Thomas. Minho smiled, just thinking about him. He did love Thomas, truly he did. Thomas had gotten him through some horrible times and it had been all too easy to fall for the stunning brunette. That was why Minho was guilty, because his soul was torn in two; half belonged to Thomas, and half was darkened, waiting for the day he'd be with Newt again. Was it fair to Thomas?

"The shank would probably tell me to shut up if he knew I was beating myself up right now," Minho muttered to himself in faint amusement. He couldn't drown himself in the past. It was nice to remember Newt. It made him happy, in a strange, tearstained way. But he didn't let it rule him. He chose to let Thomas in.

I wish he was here now, Minho thought gloomily. It was cold, and rainy, and lonely. He wished he'd talked Thomas into staying earlier. He closed his eyes and basked in images of them curled under the blankets together, Thomas whispering sweet nothings in his ear...

Just then, as though pulled from Minho's thoughts, Thomas burst through the door of the cabin. His brown eyes were wide and worried, bronze hair a damp mess. His gaze found Minho and his shoulders relaxed just a bit under his navy T-shirt. "Minho, you better get out here," he said by way of greeting.

"Could've given me a warning!" Minho squeaked, searching for his jeans while trying to hide himself at the same time.

Thomas cringed apologetically. "I know, I'm sorry. But something happened."

Minho's heart plummeted. "What is it?" he asked.

"Sarah went missing."

Snatching his jeans from beside the bed, Minho searched his mind for a Sarah. What came was a blurry image of blonde and green eyes. She was Lydia's daughter, and they lived next-door to Minho's cabin. He remembered playing with her before, out in the meadow. "Does anybody know where she might've gone?" he demanded.

"No," Thomas sighed, shaking his head. "But she mentioned to Lydia that she wanted to go out earlier. So we're assuming she's in the woods somewhere."

"Shuck."

"I know."

Tugging on his jeans, Minho then reached for his boots. "We'll find her then," he replied firmly. "People are looking now, right?"

"Yeah. Lydia's frantic." Thomas rubbed an arm in distress. "I don't know how to calm her down..."

"She'll be fine," Minho replied. "We're finding Sarah." After he'd finished tying his boots, he strode to where Thomas waited by the door. Tiredness nagged at him and he cursed his mind for letting sleep in NOW. "It's gonna be a long night," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Thomas repeated.

"Stop apologizing. I can take this."

"Thanks, Minho." Lips turning up a bit, Thomas leaned up for a brief kiss. Minho smiled at the brunette's soft lips on his. "Let's go," he said quietly, cupping Thomas's cheek with a hand, just for a moment.

They walked out into the chilly dusk together.

Outside, everything was going to hell. Immunes were hurrying about, carrying smoldering torches. The rain had died down just enough for the flames to be useful, if only for a while. None of the older people were out. It was too much to expect that of them. But most of the adults were, judging by the calling of Sarah's name in the trees. It seemed as though the whole community was gathering between the cabins. Minho spotted Lydia, a dark-haired women who was now crouched on the ground. Her face was buried in her hands and her shoulders shook with sobs. A man was kneeling next to her, patting her back and murmuring soothing words. She seemed unable to stand.

A little ways off, a group of teenage Immunes were in a rough circle around an older bald man named David. David was an icy-eyed, strong-shouldered man that took charge when emergencies like this happened. The teenagers especially looked up to him for advice, seeing him as a sort of brotherly figure. Minho himself had respect for the man. After seeing that David was speaking in serious tones to the others, Minho nudged Thomas's shoulder. "Come on."

The two approached the group. There were six of them, and Minho recognized each one: Alex, Brenda, Charlie, Maurice, Gally, and Victor. Nearly all of the teens in Haven; they were only missing a couple others. It didn't matter. What mattered right now was what David was saying. He was pointing at each of them, in a leather jacket studded with droplets.

"...should each pair up and search. The last thing we need is another person going missing. You guys know each other well, and should help each other out out there. Don't get separated, all right? I'm not looking for any idiots that get lost." His mouth quirked up at that part and an appreciative chuckle rippled around the group. Then he sobered again, taking a breath. "We all know Sarah and she means a lot to us. We're a family now." At the edge of the circle, Minho took Thomas's hand and laced their fingers comfortingly. "So let's find her and bring her home, okay?" There was a chorus of cheers from the group, all confident and determined. Their eyes gleamed and their fists were all curled at their sides. There would be no stopping these teenagers tonight.

Well, except the known troublemaker of the pack, short-haired, skinny Victor. As the group began to split off into pairs, Victor paused. Those beady hazel eyes of his had found Minho, the most common target of his bullying. "Wonder who our 'Keeper of the Runners' is gonna pair up with," he said loudly, a nasty lilt to his voice. He let mocking sarcasm drip from the words Keeper of the Runners.

Only a few others paused to look back, but most rolled their eyes. No one particularly liked Victor, except his quiet cohort, Maurice. He was only trying to get under Minho's skin because if Minho dared to do anything to Victor, it'd be Minho that got in trouble. He was way bigger than Victor and it was an obviously unfair fight. Minho forced himself to not look at the other boy, but was ashamed when the suggestive teasing made him let go of Thomas's hand. "Shut up, Vic," he growled.

"I was just commenting here, jeez," Victor scoffed. He curled his lip contemptuously. "Unlike you two, I'm actually gonna LOOK for the kid."

"Her name's Sarah," Minho told him icily.

"Whatever. You guys never do anything around here. It's always up to the rest of us, cuz you're too busy with whatever you two are." Did we mention that Victor was extremely homophobic? No? Well, now you know.

Minho gritted his teeth. "I said, shut up. Before I put my shucking foot up your ass."

"Don't threaten me, Minho," Victor snapped. A horrid sneer twisted his mouth. "What're you guys gonna do out in the woods anyway? You'll probably forget about the kid and make out somewhere. Disgusting, as usual." Peering over at Thomas, he called, "ain't that right, Thomas? When's the last time you slept over at Minho's anyway? I've seen you walk out of there before."

Thomas flinched and Minho turned on Victor with a glare. "If you don't shut your mouth, I'll—"

"And what was that other slut of a guy you had?" Victor asked, interrupting with a leer. "Newt? I heard he's dead, but you still fawn over him like a moron. Good thing he never made it; last thing we need is a sick Crank around here."

Rage exploded in Minho's chest. "You bastard," he snarled, advancing on the smaller boy. Unease finally lit in Victor's eyes and he stumbled a step back. He was lucky that Thomas caught Minho by the shoulders and hastily pushed him back.

"Minho, he's not worth it right now," Thomas insisted, forcing his gaze to meet Minho's. "We don't have time for this."

"But he—"

"Sarah is more important right now."

Minho clenched his jaw, because he knew Thomas was right, he was always right. But he wanted to beat the shit out of Victor so badly for saying those things about Newt, his Newt. And Thomas. So he just exhaled a rough breath and turned away. "Fine. Okay. But we're splitting up to look for her."

Thomas's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Wait, what?" he demanded. "Minho, why?"

"Because if we go together, we'll never hear the end of it from that slinthead," Minho muttered, watching with narrowed eyes as Victor slunk away.

"We're not supposed to split up at all."

"So what?"

"I don't like it."

"Too bad." With that, Minho started off, striding into the shadowy trees. He heard Thomas call out behind him, but he didn't turn back. His thoughts were filled with pictures of Victor, of Thomas's hurt expression, of Newt smiling at him from inside the Maze entrance. His fists clenched at his sides. He could kill that shuck-face for talking about Minho's loved ones like that. "Little shit," he muttered to himself, storming through the looming branches and undergrowth. "I could crush him under my damn foot." He thought about doing just that when he got back. Find Sarah himself just to get his point across and beat Victor senseless for good measure.

At the thought of Sarah, Minho's anger faded a little. She was out there somewhere, scared and alone. And here he was, letting some petty argument get him riled up. Thomas was right. Sarah was most important right now. They had to find her.

Before something else did.

-X-X-X-


	2. Chapter 2

-Verrrrrry short. Sorry, guys, I just wanted a suspenseful ending to a chapter. So here you go! More coming soon!-

Sarah was sure that she'd never been this terrified in her life. The creature was still watching her from the darkness, growling that low growl. It didn't move and neither did she. They were rigid, waiting for the other to make a move. She wanted to run, wanted to stand up and pelt through the trees as fast as possible. She wanted her mom and she wanted the safe security of Haven. But that was all far behind her somewhere and it was her own stupid fault. She suddenly cursed the woods she'd called her own. They were a large, formidable thing now. What was she to do?

Gulping, she tried inching her right hand back. The golden eyes flicked to he movement and flashed dangerously. A loud bark lashed out and she stiffened with a whimper. Pawsteps rustled in the surrounding undergrowth, the sound of heavy things moving about reaching her ears. Her head whipped from side to side as she struggled to track them all. She glimpsed grayish fur and glinting fangs from every angle. They were spreading out in a semicircle around her, leaving a clear path at her back. She could run down that path, she was sure of it. But as soon as she turned her back, she knew somehow that they'd be on her. She could see it in their malevolent eyes, in the evil lolling of their scarlet tongues. They wanted her. She was prey.

She was just about to make a run for it anyway, when a snapping twig from behind startled her. Gasping, she risked a glance back over her shoulder. Something else was stepping into the clearing with her, taller than the things hunting her. At first, horror claimed her in cold jaws. But then, she recognized a sharp face and a shock of black hair. It was a boy, one of the teenage boys from Haven. Her mind raced furiously and landed on a familiar name: Minho. He was standing behind her now, a wary look in his dark eyes as he gazed back at the yellow gazes of the creatures.

"Minho," she whined softly, and a hunter barked at her again. Jumping, she whirled back to meet the burning eyes piercing her own. They were closer now, testing her and this new threat behind her. Shoulders shaking fearfully, she gave a little sob. "Minho, help."

"Shh, shh, I'm gonna help you," Minho's voice assured from behind her, low and soothing. "But you have to listen to me, okay? Can you do that, Sarah?"

Lump in her throat, she nodded. Tears dripped down her cheeks, but she couldn't wipe them away in her terror.

"Okay. You're going to back up very slowly, Sarah. Back up until you get to me. But don't look away from them."

"O—okay," she stammered. She ached desperately to turn and see him, pulling some comfort from a friendly face. But she couldn't. He knew it too; the hunters would take her the moment her back was to them. So, cautiously, she began to edge backward on the ground. The growls around her intensified like rumbling thunder and she cringed. But Minho's voice was behind her, saying comforting things, and she kept moving. She was nearly to him, when one hunter placed a paw out into the clearing. Her eyes went round as a silver-furred wolf stepped elegantly from the shadows. Its lithe body was laced with muscle, thick fur dusted with rain. Lips peeled back from wicked teeth as it glared at her with stormy eyes. This thing was a killer, as were the multitude of others in the pack behind it. She didn't stand a chance.

"M—Min—"

"Just keep moving, Sarah," Minho cut her off, a tremor in his tone. "I won't let them hurt you."

"But what if—?"

"Don't think of 'what if.' Just keep moving, it's only a little bit farther."

"I...Okay." Sliding her hands over the grass, she scooted back another inch. The wolf parted its jaws, slavering fangs wide and dangerous. She couldn't stand one more second of looking into that wretched, monstrous expression. It was all too much to bear. With a small noise of fear, she looked back. Her round emerald eyes met Minho's. He gazed back at her, then his eyes lifted to the wolf behind her. His gaze went dark. "Sarah."

With a snarl, the wolf lunged forward.

It happened fast. Barely a blink of time. Sarah felt strong arms around her, scooping her up off the ground. Then she was thrown to the side, tumbling into a thick stand of ferns. Yelling in pain, she rolled to a stop among the shielding branches. She sat up quickly, twigs and leaves caught in her hair. Her eyes probed the darkness for the clearing, terrified at what had happened to Minho.

Between the gaps of the ferns, she glimpsed the roaring pack of wolves leaping from every corner of the forest. She saw a whirling, seething mass of gray-and-white fur, of tearing fangs, and wide maws, a black shirt barely visible. She saw the mass move, staggering across the clearing, a moving being of screeching wolves. Something hunched in its center and she spotted two hands grip the back of a wolf near the top of the pile. They tore the animal free and threw it. Crashing into a tree, the wolf yelped, scrabbling for a footing on the grass. Sarah finally found Minho then, shoving wolves off of him as he'd done to the first. Her breath caught. He was completely covered in blood, panting, a gash in his arm. It took only a moment for the pack to regroup and lunge for him again. Limping heavily, he struggled to stumble out of the clearing. The wolves chased after him, a whirlwind of howls and cries. She didn't think it'd take long before they found him again.

In their wake, the grass was painted red.

As she ran frantically for home, Sarah left scarlet footprints in Minho's blood.


	3. Chapter 3

-Here we are, FINALLY. I have been waiting so long to update this. Sorry for the wait, but hey, now you can read it! :) I apologize if the end of the chapter seems rushed; I was so excited to get this done. Anyway, enjoy! Let me know if you had a favorite part or, yeah XD-

Thomas had remained behind in Haven after Minho had run off. It wasn't that he didn't want to look for Sarah. Rather, it was that as soon as he'd taken a step into the trees, Lydia had grabbed him by the shirt. She'd then proceeded to cry, asking him why Sarah had run off and if there were things in the forest that could hurt her. Thomas had no answer to these questions, of course. But he reluctantly stayed with her to comfort the poor woman. Guiding her back into the main community, he murmured soothing words and watched the people spread out into the trees.

It didn't look good. The boys that ventured out earlier all came back empty-handed. Gally's green eyes were troubled with the defeat and Brenda insisted that she had to go out searching again. Victor shot Thomas a glower as he passed by. He forced himself to ignore the other boy. He hated what Victor had said to Minho, but a fight wasn't going to solve anything.

David had staggered tiredly out of the undergrowth again and wandered over to a small group of other men. They gathered together and spoke in low tones. They all held equally grave expressions. David shook his head slowly. Not a good sign. The calls of Sarah's name were growing fainter and less often. It seemed like the Immunes were losing hope. Lydia buried her face in her drawn-up knees and wept into her dress. Thomas patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"We won't give up, okay?" he promised her quietly, ducking down to see her face. It was strained and tearstained, her dark eyes pleading. Thomas gave her a sympathetic smile. "We'll find her."

"Who knows what's out in those woods?" Lydia whimpered, shoving straggly, brown hair out of her face. "Who knows what she could be doing or—or what animals might've found her?"

Thomas's heart ached. "She's going to be all right. None of us are giving up without bringing Sarah home. You just have to wait a little longer."

"Oh God, I don't know..."

"Shhh, try to calm down. I swear, we'll find her."

"Oh, Thomas," she sobbed, shaking her head. "Thomas..." Burying her face back in her knees, she trembled next to him. Thomas sighed and rested an arm across her shoulders. He wished he knew how to better comfort the frantic mother, but there really wasn't much he could do. They needed Sarah to come home, safe. That was the only thing that could help them now.

Just then, the sound of Brenda's voice shouting in astonishment made Thomas glance up. David paused in his speaking with the other Immunes and looked around confusedly. Brenda's bronze hair was visible at the edge of the forest, glowing softly in the gathering darkness. Her body was rigid, a finger pointing incredulously into the trees. "Look!"

They all looked. Even Lydia raised her head, sniffling. A rustle of grass and twigs shivered in the air as a small shape bounded toward them between the oak trees. Thomas peered at the figure, hardly daring to believe. But Lydia had no problem believing at all. With a broken cry of, "Sarah!" she leapt up from the ground and tore across the clearing. Several people jumped out of her way with startled exclamations. Straightening up, Thomas looked on with a growing smile, as Lydia crashed into her daughter, already in an embrace. The Immunes all breathed out sighs of relief, a few of the teenage ones hooting in triumph. Lydia rained kisses all over Sarah's face and head, half-scolding her for running off and half-thanking God for returning her daughter. It was a touching scene.

Until Thomas noticed something off. Sarah's cheeks were scratched and bits of dirt clung to her disheveled hair. The same went for her clothes. Even from a few yards back, he could see her trembling violently. Each time she opened her mouth in a panic and struggled to get some words out, her mother cut her off with tearful sayings. But the girl was obviously shaken. Thomas felt his stomach curl uneasily. What had happened out there?

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Looks like the Gladers win again," Gally remarked, half of a smile directed at Thomas. There was a leaf stuck in his black hair from running around during the search. He shrugged. "Well, I mean, technically we didn't FIND her, she found us, but still."

"It was a close call," Thomas replied, still studying Sarah's stammering worriedly.

"Yeah." Glancing around them at the falling night, Gally shuddered. "D'you really think there're animals out there? I mean, dangerous ones?"

"I think there's dangerous animals anywhere you live."

"I guess... It's still creepy though. It's not like we have stone walls around us anymore."

Thomas slanted him a dry look. "Would you rather be back in the Maze then?" he asked sarcastically.

Gally made a face at that. "Erm, no. I'll pass."

"That's what I thought."

"Yeah, I don't think—"

The conversation stumbled to a halt as a new voice shouted from their left: "what the hell is that?" It was David, and he was staring at something over Sarah's shoulder, a good ways away from the happy reunion. His brow furrowed in concern. Striding over to Lydia, he waved his arms at the people gathering around him. "Everybody, quiet!" he commanded.

Instant silence engulfed them. Murmurs died away and the shifting of anxious feet ceased. Thomas found himself holding his breath. Tipping his head slightly, David raised a finger. "Do you hear that?"

Everyone listened. Thomas was sure that all of their hearts froze when they heard it. There was no way you couldn't hear it. It was too close to their home and moving closer still: crashing undergrowth, cracking branches, steps pounding the forest floor, and worst of all, the bloodcurdling sound of animals screaming into the sky. Thomas was rooted to the spot, his blood chilling inside of him. God, what could make a sound like that? He could hear the things snarling, pawsteps thundering from behind a screen of oak branches; he even imagined he heard their snapping jaws. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, even after hearing the Grievers' haunting wails.

David shared an equally unnerved glance with the Immunes closest to him. In her mother's arms, Sarah began to cry. "All right," David announced, upon seeing the child's reaction, "I think we should all—"

They exploded from the forest like a thunderstorm breaking.

The people all gasped and screamed in terror, hurrying back toward one of the log cabins. "What the shuck?" Gally hissed, backing up with them, Thomas still at his side. "Christ, what did they get?"

He was talking about the wolves. The seething, howling, raging wolves. They came rolling out into the open in a tangle of limbs and fur, viciously attacking some poor animal. There were so many of them and they were ripping at it so fiercely, that Thomas couldn't even tell what it was exactly they were slaughtering. It was a grisly sight. He felt sickened watching it, but he couldn't look away. How were they supposed to get rid of a pack of wolves now? They hadn't even known there were wolves living so close.

Then something in the pack shifted. Thomas caught a flicker of the thing between the writhing bodies. His heart stopped beating and fell out of his chest onto the cold ground. "Oh my God."

Gally blinked. "What? What's...Oh SHIT."

Sarah screamed, "MINHO!"

The sickly smell of blood rose into the air as Minho limped under the weight of the attacking pack. He was fighting for his life, even managing to throw one of the animals off of his back. But there was another to replace it, and another, and another. The only way one knew it was even him was his jagged, raven hair and his torn clothes. Other than that, he was nothing but a crimson blur. Thomas's throat closed up as he watched his heart be ripped apart in front of him. Minho fell to his knees under the mass of wolves. One of them tore something from the pile and trotted to the side, gnawing on a strip of dripping red. Oh god, they were eating him alive.

"Minho!" David rushed forward and the rest of the men were close behind. Some of them had snagged burning torches and others drew knives from their pockets. Brandishing the weapons, they yelled furiously and fell on the wolves like soldiers going to war. The screeches and snarls swelled like distant bombs.

Thomas started forward too, but was halted when Jorge grabbed him by the shoulders. "No, Thomas!" he cried, digging his heels into the ground. "Let them handle this! We can't have anyone else getting hurt!"

Thomas growled desperately and fought against him, but he couldn't break free. He wouldn't hurt Jorge, so all he could do was try to wrench his arms from Jorge's grip. He was too strong. "He needs me," Thomas whimpered. "He needs me..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, hermano," Jorge replied in a strained voice. The older man didn't let go though. "But if they get hurt, we need people who can help."

"No, please." Thomas watched with tears in his eyes, as his friends battled with the pack. Minho was visible as a crumpled heap on the ground between them. "Please, let me see him."

"I'm sorry, Thomas," Jorge repeated again, the sadness evident in his voice.

Thomas swallowed down his tears as blazing torches were driven into the flesh of wolves, as blades lifted and came down again, and men yelled for each other. With a collective yelping chorus of cries, the pack licked at their wounds and tore back across Haven. Their paws drummed the ground and their pained barks echoed as they galloped for the trees. In a matter of moments, they'd vanished. Thomas wasted no time in tearing free from Jorge and stumbling toward Minho. There were men grumbling in pain from bites and scratches, checking in with each other. David and a couple of others were circling around the boy lying on the ground. "We need to get him to Matheus, now!" David was calling. Matheus was an older man who lived near the edge of the log cabins. He was their unofficial medical team, considering he was the only one of them that had been a doctor before.

Thomas dodged around David, nearly pushing over another man by accident, and knelt down next to Minho. Minho was sprawled out on his back, an arm across his bloodied stomach. He looked horrible. Crimson slashes from unforgiving fangs marred his skin, all over. His tank top was torn in places where teeth had ripped at it to get beneath. The hand over his stomach was red with his own blood. It clumped in his hair, ran down his neck, soaked his clothes. Thomas's heart hurt.

"Minho..." he whispered, tentatively touching Minho's shoulder.

Flinching under the probing fingertips, Minho gave a long, low noise. His head lolled limply to one side, jaw clenching with pain.

"Help him," Thomas pleaded, and raised his gaze up to David and the others around him.

David's mouth was set in a hard line. Nodding shortly, he bent down beside him and looked over Minho concernedly. "Minho?" he asked. "We're gonna get you some help, okay? We'll take you to Matheus."

Moaning softly, Minho shifted, consciousness slipping. "Thom..."

Thomas's heart ached. "I'm here," he said, taking Minho's hand. "I'm here."

"He's shucked," someone muttered off to their right. Similar agreements rippled throughout the group.

David swept them all with a harsh glance. "C'mon," he ordered, "help me carry him." With that, he began looping his arms under Minho's legs.

Thomas climbed to his feet and stepped back as the others moved in front of him to help. Hands took Minho's arms and legs, and hooked under his back. As carefully as possible, they hefted him up off the ground. A whine of pain escaped the Keeper as his head fell back on its own, one arm dangling. Drops of scarlet dripped from his fingertips. They began to carry him across the clearing, toward Matheus's cabin. Hurrying him along as much as they could, they slipped past the others gathering there. Thomas jogged after them, his throat feeling clogged with cotton.

"How did this happen?!"

That was the first thing Matheus squawked out as the cluster of Immunes burst through his door with no announcement. David spared a quick glance at the gray-haired man. "No time to explain," he replied gruffly. "Get him on a table. And someone grab a towel for the blood."

"I—I have one," Matheus stammered. He snagged a worn, white towel from a stack in the corner. Scraping a wooden table over to the center of the floor, he draped the towel over it. The men snapped at each other to be careful as they lowered Minho onto it. Minho was clinging to wakefulness, chest rising with harsh breaths. Matheus gaped at the ravaged boy in front of him. "Well, I'd still like to know why I have a dying kid in my home!" he snapped, ashy-gray eyes wide.

Thomas gripped the edge of the table. "He's not dying!" he argued.

"He was attacked by wolves," David explained with a warning look fired toward Thomas.

"Wolves?" Matheus echoed. He looked down at Minho through his black-rimmed spectacles. "What were you doing, provoking wolves?"

Minho fought for deep breaths, wincing from his wounds. "Found them...with Sarah," he managed weakly. "Were gonna...attack...her..."

David's face cleared in understanding. "You let them take you instead."

Hissing as Matheus began to assess his injuries with sure fingers, Minho nodded. David shook his head slowly. "Damn, Minho," he muttered. "They would've killed her. Grown men aren't brave enough to do what you did."

Minho offered half of a strained smile. "Thanks..."

Matheus threw his hands up with a huffed exhale. His hair stuck out at all angles as he raked his fingers through it. "That's it; I can't do this with him like wounds need cleaned thoroughly, and bandaged, and I can't do that without help."

"What do you needs us to do?" Thomas asked at once. He glanced down at Minho and the other boy met his gaze, dark eyes softening slightly. "We'll do anything."

Matheus was turning away and rummaging through his medical supplies, boxes and cases of all different sizes. Without looking back, he called over his shoulder, "sit him up and get his shirt off. I'm gonna need to see the wounds on his back..."

"Okay," David exhaled, taking Minho's shoulders to help him sit up. He glanced up at the men gathering uncertainly around him. "You guys can leave. We don't need a big crowd in the way. Victor and Thomas, you can stay."

"Oh, damn," Victor growled.

"Oh, shit," Minho muttered in return.

David rolled his eyes. "Just sit up, Minho."

Cautious, Thomas helped the two others lift Minho up off the table. The other men filed out of the lamplit room, already spreading the gossip of what had happened to the Immunes waiting outside. Thomas had taken a place by Minho's head, one hand on the back of it to cradle him up. The hair there was sticky with blood and made him shudder. Minho gritted his teeth as they made him sit up and then they were easing up the hem of his tank top. "Ah—" he gasped as he was forced to raise his arms and they dragged the fabric up his body. Thomas couldn't help but grimace when he saw the ugly gashes in Minho's back, rippling over the muscle. There were similar injuries bit into his collarbone and his sides.

"Well," Matheus said flatly, hauling some gauzy bandages and a jar of something clear over, "it looks like the worst of it's on your back. Which is good. Shielding the front was smart, as there are more vital organs there..." He trailed off, mumbling things to himself about medical treatments as he studied Minho's wounds.

Thomas kept holding the back of Minho's head as he watched the doctor work. Gently, he rubbed his fingers through Minho's hair there. Minho glanced at him gratefully. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Hey." Thomas smiled a wobbly smile. Watching David talk in low tones with Matheus, helping point out scratches and bites, he sighed. "I'm only good for holding you up while they do the work," he muttered. "Wish I could do more."

"You're doing fine, shank," Minho replied. "I thought you'd be giving me hell for getting attacked by wolves."

"I will later, trust me," Thomas joked. Then he frowned. "I...I thought you were...I was so..." He stumbled to a halt. Awkwardly, he just leaned in and touched a kiss to Minho's cheek. "I'm glad you're not dead," he murmured warmly.

Minho's mouth curved up at the corner. "Love you too, shuckface."

Matheus had been checking the damage, pushing his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. There didn't seem to be much worry on his face yet. Retrieving a rag and that clear jar, he popped off the lid. A sharp scent was released into the air, the too-clean smell of antiseptic. He didn't have much, as it had been carefully kept with him from his doctoring years, but it was enough. "All right," he muttered, dipping the rag into the liquid. "Let's see here." He began cleaning out the more minor bite marks on Minho's collar and ribs. Minho sucked in a breath at the sting of the antiseptic. Matheus spared him a glance. "You okay?"

"Fine," Minho bit out. His head tilted back instinctively into Thomas's hand cupping his head.

Thomas lightly massaged the nape of Minho's neck, trying to sooth him. The Keeper's eyes closed in something like relief for a second, until Matheus announced, "done. Now let me see your back."

Minho glanced at the others uncertainly. David nodded to him once, already starting over. "We'll help you," he said, with no hesitation. As he and Thomas took Minho's shoulders to help flip him over, he shot a glare toward Victor. "You can help too, Victor."

Exhaling a rough, dramatic sigh, Victor tossed his hands up. "Aw, why?" he whined. "I don't want the guy's blood on me."

"Suck it up," David shot back.

"The slinthead's always picking a fight with me!" Victor argued. He glowered at Minho, who glowered right back. "He deserved what he got."

Thomas stiffened. "Shut up."

"Oh, of course his slut over there is gonna stand up for him."

Bristling, Thomas nearly strode over to punch the jackass, but Minho's hand on his arm stopped him. David's head jerked up, icy eyes flashing. "Victor!" he snapped threateningly.

Victor was rigid, rat-like eyes daring Thomas to shake off Minho's hold and start a fight already. He was scared of Minho. He wasn't as scared of Thomas. Finally, he flashed David a dirty look and trudged over to help. This time, it took Thomas holding onto Minho's legs to get him flipped over. They did it as carefully as possible, going slow and easy. But they all still felt the same unease once Minho was laying on his stomach and his beaten back was on display. It was bad. Thomas could tell. Strips of skin had been torn from either side of his spine. Blood oozed from the wounds and soaked into the towel beneath him. Thomas nearly gagged at the black smell of it and retreated back to standing by Minho's head.

Matheus cleared his throat in a mixture of thought and concern. "Hm. Well, first, let me get it cleaned." With no other warning, he poured some of the antiseptic across the gashes on Minho's back.

Thomas could only imagine that it burned like hell, because Minho planted his forearms on the table and made a small pained sound. His jaw was tight as he bowed his head, hair brushing the towel beneath him. His hands were in fists, forearms holding his head and upper body off the table. Thomas trembled at the sight of the muscles tightening in the open wounds.

"Shuck," Minho muttered roughly.

Finished with the cleaning, Matheus went back to examining Minho's back. Whatever he saw made him frown and scrub the back of his head with a hand. "I'm sorry," he said at last, "but you need stitches. There's no other way to make sure it heals properly." Wringing his hands, he sighed. "I'm afraid I have no way of...numbing you..."

Victor promptly left the room, due to his queasiness about the entire situation. David dragged his hand over his face and shifted his weight to his other foot. Minho had stilled. "What?" he asked in a smaller voice.

"I'm sorry," Matheus repeated. "But we can't leave the wound open."

"I—" Minho broke off, staring at the ground. "Okay."

"Good." Turning away, Matheus retrieved a clean needle from a little box, along with thread. It was probably a major win for him, to have stolen the medical thread while he'd been a doctor at WICKED. Making sure he had a long enough piece, he expertly threaded the needle. Minho lay tense under him. Leaning over the injuries, Matheus readied his hands. "Okay, we're going to start right here..." he murmured to himself.

Minho shivered. "Thomas?"

"I'm still here," Thomas replied, his stomach twisting at the trace of fear in Minho's voice. He touched Minho's arm reassuringly.

The needle sank in.

Minho's gasp tore sharply into the room. Thomas tightened his grip on the Keeper's arm as Matheus continued looping the thread through Minho's skin. Each time the needle dipped in, Minho whimpered and hid his face from the onlookers. Thomas's throat felt like a stone had been lodged inside of it. He couldn't stand to see Minho in pain, especially when there was nothing he could do to help. He could just stand beside him and stroke his hair every now and then, murmuring soothing words in his ear. He wasn't sure if Minho heard him over his own strained sounds of pain. He felt so utterly useless, the way he always did when Minho had to face things on his own. Minho had always been stronger than him, never needing help. But Thomas couldn't stop trying.

He'd tried to be there for Minho in the Maze and the Scorch. He'd tried to be there for Minho after Newt had died. He knew he could never save Minho from all the horrors, or replace Newt in Minho's heart.

But he couldn't stop trying.


	4. Chapter 4

-Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad that you seem to be enjoying this story. Here's the second-to-the-last part. I hope you like it! Warning: rated M for a reason. You don't like it, please don't read it. The rest of you, enjoy ;)-

Thomas waited a full twenty-four hours before trying to visit Minho again. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his boyfriend. Hell, it drove him mad just waiting until he was permitted to visit Minho. But Minho had been badly hurt and confined to his cabin for the last day and night. His injuries had been stitched closed and wrapped in bandages. Matheus had a supply of medicine, but it was dangerously low. Soon he would be turning to gathering herbs in the forest to use. But until then, he was saving his supply for people who really needed it. Minho had insisted that the pain was manageable and so, he went back to his home with no painkillers. That was where he'd been ever since, recuperating. He wasn't allowed to work in Haven with the others and it drove him crazy.

So, once Matheus finally decided that a visitor would do no harm, Thomas hurried over to Minho's that evening. His work was done for the day, so he had the rest of the night to himself. With Minho. He was high on the thought as he stopped at the rough wooden door of the cabin. On any other day, he'd simply go inside and Minho would meet him with a smile and a kiss. But he knew that the Keeper was still hurt, so he lifted a hand and knocked first. "Minho?" he called. "It's me."

The voice came through the door, muffled. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Thomas took this as permission to come in. Opening the door, he slipped inside. The interior of the cabin was bathed in soft gold from several lamps in the corners and on the small table. They sent dancing shadows across the walls and the ceiling. Minho's tall form was silhouetted, standing beside his bed. Thomas leaned back against the door to close it and stole a second to admire the former Keeper. Minho's long legs were hugged by denim jeans; he would've worn more comfortable sweatpants, if he had them, but they were left only with the clothes from WICKED's last trial. He seemed to have borrowed a loose black sweater from a neighbor though, so that the worst wounds on his torso weren't aggravated by tighter fabric. At the click of the door shutting, he glanced over his shoulder. "Hey," he greeted with a soft voice and softer smile.

"Hey," Thomas replied, a bit shyly. "You look better."

"I've been through worse," Minho joked.

"Like what?"

"Getting chased by Grievers and struck by lightning."

"Eh, those don't seem so bad." Thomas gave a playful smile and Minho laughed. The sound sent tiny tingles dancing underneath Thomas's skin. He had fallen so hard for Minho. There was an affectionate, melty look in Minho's dark eyes now. Thomas's stomach twisted with butterflies as Minho stepped toward him. "So, did you—?" Minho started, but then Thomas noticed something and cut him off.

"Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing at a flash of fabric in Minho's hands.

Minho blinked and glanced down. "O—oh, um." Awkwardly, he lifted a folded-up hoodie, held gently in his hands. "Nothing. It's nothing." Turning to his bed, he set the hoodie down at the edge of the mattress.

Thomas didn't think it was nothing. He saw the reverent careful way Minho placed the hoodie there, the sad lingering of his fingers trailing over the fabric. The realization dawned on him and he didn't know why he'd never thought of it before. "It's Newt's, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Minho shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded silently.

Feeling as though his soul was aching, Thomas crossed over to his boyfriend at last and tugged lightly on his sleeve. "I'm glad you have something of his," he murmured. "To remind you of him."

Minho shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "I guess," he admitted. "But..." He trailed off, glancing at Thomas with more emotion in his eyes than Thomas could ever remember seeing there.

"It's not the same," Thomas finished for him.

"Yeah." Minho went back to staring at his socks.

Thomas studied the black-haired boy's face. He thought he saw a suspicious glimmer in Minho's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. Tentative, he touched Minho's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Minho gave a single strained nod. Then he exhaled a rough breath and shook his head. "No," he whimpered and Thomas took him in his arms.

Circling his hands around to rest on Minho's back, Thomas set his nose at Minho's shoulder. The cloth of his sweater was soft and smelled like the burnt-wood scent of Minho. He listened sadly as Minho gave a tiny sob, clinging to Thomas with arms hugging around his neck. Trembles racked his body and Thomas held him tighter. He was fighting his own tears. He'd confessed long ago to Minho that Thomas was responsible for Newt's death. Minho had said a dozen times that he forgave Thomas, but Thomas still felt the nagging, burning guilt. It only intensified when Minho broke down like this. Rubbing Minho's back, he murmured quiet, soothing things in his ear. Minho gave another pained whine. "I can't live without him, Thomas," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know, I know," Thomas whispered, closing his eyes and burying his face in Minho's shoulder. He couldn't help it though; a surge of agonized jealousy smoldered in his veins. He missed Newt, missed him so much, and he knew that Minho missed him even more. But it hurt, to think that Thomas would always be second-best in Minho's heart. He could never be Newt. A single tear escaped his eye, soaking into Minho's shirt. "I'm sorry."

Minho sniffled and made a sound of surprise. "For what?" he asked, still trembly from tears.

"For Newt," Thomas mumbled.

"Thomas." Setting his hands at Thomas's neck, Minho drew back. His eyes glistened from lingering tears, but there was a firm set to his jaw. "I told you: I don't blame you for what you did. I know it's what Newt wanted."

"No, I—That's not what I meant," Thomas stammered. Minho cocked his head in confusion and Thomas dropped his gaze. "I meant that...I'm sorry that Newt couldn't be here. I'm sorry I'm not him." Absently, he rubbed circles into Minho's sides. "You'd rather have him here instead of me. I know."

"No. Don't ever think that." Hands cupping Thomas's jaw, Minho tilted the brunette's head up so that their eyes would meet. The hard line of his jaw showed that he was dead-serious. "Please, don't think that," he pleaded.

"But it's true," Thomas mumbled.

"No, it's not," Minho argued. Pausing, he took a moment to stroke his thumbs over Thomas's cheeks, eliciting a tiny sigh. "Thomas, I miss Newt," he said very quietly. "I miss him so much, it hurts sometimes. And yeah, okay, he was my first. But that doesn't mean that the way I feel about you is any less." Something like a smile danced across his lips. "I'm in love with you. You're the person I want to see every morning when I wake up and the person I dream about. You're the one who I want with me, every night, even though I bet the old Immunes would call it 'improper.'" Thomas chuckled at that one, because old lady Marie loved using the word "improper." Minho smiled wider. "You made me remember who I was," he went on. "After Newt died, I couldn't stand being alive. I turned into a horrible person. You saved me." Minho placed a soft kiss on Thomas's forehead. "You saved me, and you're a shuckface for bringing this up, and I love you."

Staring at this beautiful beautiful boy, Thomas felt his throat threaten to close up. His entire being brimmed with joy. "I love you, too, Min," he murmured.

Minho caressed Thomas's cheeks with his thumbs again, so tenderly, that it made his pulse skip a couple of beats. He couldn't stop staring at Minho, drinking in his flawless features: the jagged stormy hair, the strong shoulders, the soft soft curve of his mouth... Minho's knowing chuckle brought Thomas back to his senses. He realized, with a tickle of warmth in him, that that soft mouth was smirking at him. "C'mere, already," Minho murmured, reeling Thomas in by a light hold on the back of his neck.

Their lips brushed together and Thomas sighed in bliss. His eyelids fell closed as soon as Minho began to kiss him, slow and passionately. The way their lips fit together, the tiny sighs escaping between them, was making Thomas lose his mind. He looped his arms around Minho's waist, hands resting at the small of his back. Even through the sweater, he could feel the flex of muscle and it was making him dizzy.

A long breath left Minho's lungs. He moved away from Thomas's lips, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, his jaw. He continued down until he reached Thomas's neck. A small pleased noise came from the back of Thomas's throat when he felt the insistent pressure of Minho's kisses on the side of his neck. There was the barest hint of teeth that drove him mad and the heat of Minho's tongue tasting his skin.

"Min..." Everything he felt for Minho was breathed out in the one syllable. Thomas found himself sliding his hands up Minho's back, taking the hem of his sweater up too. His fingers grazed over the gauzy bandages there. He paused when he heard Minho hiss. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, face already burning hotly. Minho had drawn back, a tightness in his expression from the flicker of pain. "I didn't mean to, I know you're hurt. We probably shouldn't—"

"We should," Minho interrupted him, a bit breathless. Thomas blinked and Minho pressed their foreheads together. "It's been too long. Too damn long. I need you, now."

Well, that shot down just about every argument Thomas could think another word, he slammed his lips onto Minho's again. This kiss was all fire, smoldering, needy. Minho's fingers knotted in the neckline of Thomas's shirt. Thomas was a complete mess, gasping against Minho's mouth like he couldn't get enough. Minho's lips curved up smugly and he ran his tongue over Thomas's bottom lip. "Someone's eager," he whispered huskily, as Thomas responded by pressing their bodies together desperately.

"Just shut up," Thomas flashed back. Dropping his hands down between them, he fumbled with the front of Minho's jeans. Triumph flickered through him at Minho's hitched breath. "Who's eager now?" he asked, as he finally got Minho's jeans open.

"Shank," Minho growled.

"Lift your arms," Thomas ordered in return. He guided Minho's arms above his head and the Keeper held them there obediently. Rucking up Minho's sweater, Thomas practically tore the thing off and threw it to the floor. His breath stopped in his chest. Minho was just as beautiful as Thomas remembered, marred only by the bandages wrapped around his body. He only had a second to gawk at all of that bare skin, before Minho was shoving him backward.

Yanking down one side of Thomas's shirt, Minho lustfully bit at his shoulder as they stumbled through the room. "Minho," Thomas whined out.

"Relax, love," Minho mumbled, licking over the marks he was leaving. "Let me..."

Thomas let out a ragged breath as his knees hit Minho's bed and Minho eased him back onto it. Twisting on the mattress so that he could stretch out, Thomas swallowed as Minho straddled him. The other boy was lethally stunning with his jeans undone and the lines of his hips forming a 'V' that Thomas ached to touch. Sitting up, Thomas hurriedly grabbed at his shirt to get it off. Minho's hands were there to help him, then gliding over Thomas's chest as soon as the clothing was gone. He skimmed his palms to Thomas's back, kneading the skin; Thomas was embarrassed when he moaned.

"Oh God," Thomas choked out, as Minho unsnapped his jeans and dipped his fingers inside. "A—are you sure, Minho? You—you're hurt and p—people already talk about us."

"I'm not that hurt," Minho scoffed. "And as for them talking about us..." He smirked sexily, nuzzling Thomas's neck. "Let's give them something to talk about then," he whispered.

Thomas leaned his neck into Minho's touch, grateful when he received a nip at his skin in reply. "Okay, I...Okay."

Minho was on him in an instant. He pushed Thomas back onto the bed of furs and tugged down his waistband. Thomas canted his hips up to get his pants off, exhaling in relief when they were gone. Propping himself up on an elbow, he watched hungrily as Minho discarded his own jeans onto the floor. Then he reached up, catching the back of Minho's neck and dragging him back into bed. Their mouths met in a searing kiss as Minho climbed on top of Thomas once more. Thomas hooked his legs around Minho's waist, seeking for any opportunity to get closer. He was drunk, he was burning up, he was falling deeper and deeper in love with Minho with every touch.

"Please, please," he begged incoherently, as Minho ground his hips down onto Thomas's.

"Please, what?" Minho asked, tracing his nose down along Thomas's. He didn't stop the rocking of their hips together, shooting sparks up Thomas's nerves.

Thomas bit his lip hard against the pleasure coursing through him. "Please, make love to me."

Smiling with half of his mouth, Minho pecked Thomas's lips lovingly. "I'd love to, darling," he murmured.

His hands were at Thomas's boxers then, pulling them down. Thomas shuddered as the clothing was peeled down his legs and the cool air hit his skin. He practically kicked them off his ankles and immediately grabbed for Minho's. A burst of breathless laughter came from him, as Thomas leaned up to kiss at his neck and tugged at his boxers. "Thom...Thomas, slow down," he chuckled, tilting his head and pressing his cheek to Thomas's silken bronze hair.

"No," Thomas muttered. He sank his teeth lightly into Minho's neck; feeling evil, he snuck a hand between Minho's legs, drawing a long moan from the Keeper. "I've already waited long enough."

Gasping for air, Minho seized Thomas's wrists away from him and forced them up above Thomas's head. Pinning them there with one hand, he used the other to hike one of Thomas's legs up around his waist. Thomas's chest rose and fell erratically as Minho bent over him with a dark want in his eyes. He watched as Minho's eyes closed and he buried his face in the crook of Thomas's neck. A muffled whimper escaped the Keeper as he slowly pushed himself into Thomas. Thomas's hips canted upward at once and he sucked in a harsh breath. Minho was right; it had been too long since they'd been together like this. Thomas hadn't realized how much he'd missed Minho and these heated touches in the dark.

Minho's breaths huffed against Thomas's skin. Once he'd waited long enough for Thomas to get used to this again, he started to rock his hips back and then in. The delicious friction lit up inside of Thomas and he mewled deliriously under Minho. His legs shook with pleasure and he wrapped them around Minho's waist to hide it. Minho picked up the pace, but kept it lazy and easy, his body moving fluidly over Thomas's. It was almost too slow and Thomas bucked his hips up, desperate for more. Growling, Minho changed the angle slightly and ground his hips forward. Ecstasy shuddered through Thomas's body and he moaned embarrassingly loud. He didn't know if he could take much more.

Minho was kissing at Thomas's neck as he moved, teeth running down along his skin, then sinking in near his collarbone. Thomas's head dropped backward, lips parting. When Minho sucked on the indents of a bite on Thomas's collarbone, Thomas's wrists jerked against Minho's hold. But he couldn't free his arms and Minho continued to torture him. "Mine," Minho mumbled into Thomas's throat. "You're all mine." He drove his hips forward, hard, and Thomas's back arched.

"M—Minho—"

"Say it," Minho breathed into Thomas's ear, taking a lazy lick over the curve of it. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," Thomas groaned, nearly out of his mind.

Minho rewarded him with a long, deep kiss that sent Thomas's mind reeling. All thoughts of wolves, and Haven, and Newt, and survival were blotted out from his mind. All there was was the lamplit cabin and Minho's body hard over his. That was all there ever was, for him. He closed his eyes as they moved together, Minho's gasps in his ears, and he felt it more then than ever before: Minho, I love you and I've always loved you, from the beginning in the Glade, and I'll never be able to tell you how glad I am that I have you now.


	5. Chapter 5

-Sorry, okay, this is really short. But there's like, a bunch of other stories I desperately want to write, so i had to hurry up and finish this. Plus, I realized there wasn't much else I wanted to add to it. So here's just a little Thominho moment and the ending. I hope you've enjoyed it, and I look forward to writing more for you :)-

Minho was lost in some wonderful dream at the moment. There was the golden grass of the Glade around him, summer sunlight, and Newt was whispering sweetly in his ear. He could almost feel the blonde's shoulder leaning against his, almost catch the honeying scent that was his angel. All of that started to fade, suddenly, and he snatched desperately at it with his fingers. Dreams were all he had now, he needed them, he needed this... His mind clawed at the last bits of the dream, just before it was blotted out for good.

Grumbling under his breath as wakefulness claimed him, Minho peeled open his eyes. The room around him was darkened. Some of the lamps must've died out after a while. Shifting on the mattress, Minho winced as the wounds under his bandages pulled painfully. He couldn't really see anything, so he waited for his eyes to adjust. Shuck, what time was it anyway? He peered toward the door and noticed that no light seeped in through the crack at the bottom. It was definitely nighttime. Normally, he stuffed a blanket in that gap during colder months, but he had forgotten tonight. Luckily, the piled blankets of furs on top of him were warm enough. Releasing a tired exhale, he settled deeper into the covers to fall back asleep.

That was when he realized there was an arm around his waist and a warm body pressed up against him. Blinking, he glanced down at the mess of brown hair at his chest. A fond smile played over his lips. "Shank," he muttered, smoothing Thomas's hair affectionately. He had only spoken loud enough to make Thomas stir and nose farther into Minho's chest. Then his breathing deepened again. Minho's smiled widened.

He didn't know what he would do without Thomas. He had meant everything he'd said; Thomas had saved him. Minho was sure he never would've survived Newt's death without knowing that Thomas was there to support him. And later, when he'd found out that Thomas was in love with him, had BEEN in love with him for so long, he'd been floored. He couldn't imagine life in Haven without Thomas now.

He had a sudden urge to see Thomas's eyes and make sure that there weren't still any bad feelings about Newt. Thomas wasn't second-best to Minho. He was everything to Minho. He continued to play with Thomas's hair, running his fingers through it, until Thomas stirred again. Mumbling a mess of syllables, Thomas brought his head up from Minho's chest and rolled onto his back instead. Minho bit his lip over a smile. "Thomas," he tried, softly. "Sweetheart, wake up." He tugged gently at a piece of fawn-colored hair.

Muttering about it being too early for work, Thomas opened his eyes and blinked groggily. "Minho?" he asked, voice heavy and thick. His gaze found the Keeper beside him and he pushed his hair off his face. "Wha d'you want?"

"I just wanted to see you, I guess," Minho confessed. Thomas's sleepy coffee-brown eyes were holding him in a way that made him shiver.

"Oh. Slinthead." Thomas gave him a push in the shoulder. "Lemme sleep."

Minho chuckled. "Sorry," he murmured, touching his lips to Thomas's forehead. Thomas's arm tightened around his waist in reply. "So, what work am I missing out on tomorrow?"

"Still sitting in here, bored all day?" Thomas asked wryly.

"Matheus won't let me do anything."

Sidling closer in the bed, Thomas tucked his head beneath Minho's chin. "I gotta do the usual. Food and wood for winter. Some of the parents are gonna make me keep their kids busy too."

"Sounds like you're looking forward to it," Minho joked at Thomas's flat tone.

Thomas groaned and buried his face in Minho's chest. "It's gonna long and tiring, and I don't feel like doing it," he mumbled.

"At least you're ALLOWED to do it."

"Yay for me." Growling under his breath, Thomas pressed a kiss to Minho's chest. "I'd much rather stay in here, with you."

Minho grinned and smoothed a hand down Thomas's back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath the skin. "I bet you would," he murmured, as Thomas purred in his arms.

"Shuckface." Thomas shoved him again. Then he buried himself up against Minho once more, sighing at the body heat they shared. "Now, go back to sleep," he mumbled. "I'm tired."

"Okay." Minho stroked Thomas's hair softly as the brunette's eyelids drooped and his breathing began to slow. He was lucky, he thought, to have someone like this in his life, after everything that they'd been through. Bending down, he pressed his lips to Thomas's hair. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Kay," Thomas replied sleepily.

"I won't wake you up again," Minho went on, reluctant to end the conversation.

"Mmhm."

Thomas's breathing was getting deep and even against Minho's chest. He kept his lips against the top of Thomas's head and closed his eyes. "I love you," he whispered, muffled by Thomas's hair.

Thomas had completely fallen into sleep again by now. But he still smiled. He was safe, and Minho was safe, and they had everything they'd ever wanted, here in Haven.

Minho imagined that Newt would be happy for them.


End file.
